


Like we're gonna die young

by moanna



Category: Morning Glories
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:14:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moanna/pseuds/moanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zoe had anticipated nothing less than a full-on protest campaign complete with buttons and flyers from Casey after the announcement of the annual prom during their math period, because god forbid you get dressed up and drink some spiked punch and dance a little too close when, like, people are dying or whatever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like we're gonna die young

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at the MG ficathon on LJ.
> 
> Alcohol content warning.

Zoe had anticipated nothing less than a full-on protest campaign complete with buttons and flyers from Casey after the announcement of the annual prom during their math period, because god forbid you get dressed up and drink some spiked punch and dance a little too close when, like, people are dying or whatever. But even dear sweet princess Casey needs a night off from fighting the good fight, a fight which has thankfully calmed down after the catastrophe that was the Jade rescue, but it even an idiot, or Hunter, could tell that her crusade was far from over, which was exactly what Zoe said as she walked into their room, wardrobe bags piled on her arms, which she promptly dumped on Jade’s desk, without looking to see if it was otherwise occupied. 

Casey was the room’s sole occupant at the moment, thank god, because dealing with Pamela in addition to a makeover would do atrocious things to Zoe’s complexion. Jade was probably doing Jade-y things like drawing sad pictures or listening to sad music in the sad library. 

“If those bags contain what they think I contain, the answer is no,” Casey replied from her desk across the room, turning back to what was presumably the same chemistry problem set Zoe had been helping her with while simultaneously mentally cataloguing the favors she could call in to get a decent selection of formal wear. 

“You can drop the holier-than-thou act, I won’t tell your ginger cult. Even un-caped crusaders deserve a night off to get their bump and grind on. And sure it may be supervised by a slightly murderous staff with questionable motives as to why they want to fill a gym with teens who tend to specialize in violence and bad hairstyles, but like, that still doesn’t overpower the big picture here,” Zoe paused for dramatic effect, knowing Casey would fill it with the appropriate cued response. 

“Which is?”

“Vodka,” Zoe replied, with the duh implied. “Forcing youths to remain sober in this environment is its own form of torture. Apparently Ike managed to sweet-talk Gribbs into a hook-up, and I know we hate the douchenozzle, but that’s no reason to not use him shamelessly for alcohol.”

Casey was predictably unconvinced, but there was noticeably less disdain in her response as she turned towards Zoe, who had been unzipping the wardrobe bags and hanging them from her bunk according to color and skirt length. 

“And okay, if that’s not enough to convince you, which is really just you lying to yourself but for argument’s sake I will push on, going to the dance will show the staff that you’re still playing their game. Because, really, by not going you’re just going to draw more attention to yourself, which will then allow whatever your next hopelessly romantic scheme to go without quite as many hitches.”

Casey ignored this last comment, but made a simple hmmm before saying, “And I suppose you have an answer to me saying that I don’t have anything to wear.” 

Zoe smirked, the conversation going exactly as she had assumed. “Indeed I do. I also have a couple dresses for the wailing banshee, so don’t try to be all noble to console her with chick flicks or whatever instead of going. As for dates, I’m assuming from the way you’ve been avoiding eye contact with Hunter that that’s thankfully run its course, and I really hate the idea of going to the dance with some potential date-rapist football players, which is unfortunately the bulk of the male population, so we’re rocking the I-don’t-need-a-man girl-power shit I’m sure you eat right up. The answer is nitrogen triiodide, by the way. Now stop pretending that you don’t already know you’re going to come to this dance and that you’re going to enjoy yourself, because I can only swallow so much of your saint routine before I feel nauseous.”

She had been a little harsher than she had initially planned, but it’s not like it wasn’t true, and Zoe had never been renowned for her tact. 

She could see the resignation in Casey’s posture, and a joy that she would never admit to, as she sighed and said, “Okay, but I refuse to wear anything with sequins.”

“Don’t insult me.” 

\--

Countless hours had been spent on dress fittings (“It is supposed to be that tight, Casey, stop pulling the fabric or I swear to god I will stick you with this pin on purpose”), proper body hair removal (“Don’t tell me these are the tweezers you use, just lie to me, please”), finding appropriate shampoo and conditioner (“Generic?”), distracting Pamela so they could steal enough of her foundation (“Yes, this is necessary, I don’t care how much your mother praised your skin”), and threats to bind Casey until she was finished with her eye makeup (“I have a sharp pencil near your eye, do you really think this is a time to be fidgeting?”), and Casey was now refusing to leave the bathroom.

Even Jade looked presentable, a feat that Zoe would count among her highest successes, as they sat on opposite beds, Zoe yelling increasingly louder at the locked door.

“Oh my god, it’s just a dance, just come out of the goddamned bathroom so we can get this night over with,” she pleaded, entirely too sober to deal with this bout of whining after waking up at before-dawn-o’clock to prep them all for the evening and putting up with an unsurprisingly uncooperative Casey for the succeeding hours.

She could hear the shuffling footsteps of feet that weren’t well-adjusted to four inch heels from behind the bathroom door, followed by the sound of the lock turning in the door, and Casey shyly stepped out from the room.

Shit.

It’s not like she hadn’t realized Casey was pretty. She was gorgeous in that girl-next-door way, so really Zoe shouldn’t have been reacting in such a way when she appeared in the bedroom. 

She was just admiring her hard work, Zoe told herself, suppressing the unwelcome flutterings in her gut as she looked over her every inch -- hair curled and loosely put up with tendrils framing her face and bringing attention to her eyes, those beautiful, bright blue eyes, highlighted with light shadow and a shimmering base and just enough eyeliner and mascara, nearly flawless skin made almost porcelain with the stolen foundation, blush defining her cheekbones in the same shade as her peach lip stain. The dress Zoe had finally selected for her was simple enough, a coral empire waist floor-length dress with a braided border around the sweetheart top and waist strap, and the silver heels Zoe had supplied were barely visible under the skirt.

Casey had been uttering protests and complaints while Zoe had been cataloguing her appearance, and she let her whining continue in order to collect herself. Yes, Casey was beautiful, achingly so, but what good would pining for a saint do? A saint who, moreover, was doomed for some boring will-they-won’t-they with some freckled nice guy. 

“Stop being so melodramatic so we can go already. If you’re crying has made me miss a single Gaga song, I might just slip and tell Pamela about the nail polish somebody carelessly spilled on her pillow.”

“That wasn’t even me!” 

“Yeah, whatever, like the maniac with the knife will conduct a full investigation. Just fucking shuffle out the door so we can go make other girls angry when their dates drool over us.” Zoe guided Casey out the door, catching her as she stumbled on the corner of the rug, and if she felt a thrill run through her from the point where their skin touched, well so what.

\--

In accordance with cliche, the gym had been decked out in crepe streamers and construction paper stars and whatever other decorations fit whatever uncreative theme the staff had chosen. The main lights were off and Christmas lights had been hung to add to the illusion that they weren’t in a room that was primarily used for basketball games. Top forties music was playing from speakers in a corner that were connected to an iPod, and quite a few couples had gotten much handsier as the night had gone on, and the punch wasn’t nearly as spiked as it should have been, and Casey would never admit it later, but they were having fun as they danced in the center of the crowd, a Ke$ha song in the background.

The song ended, and Casey gestured at her mouth that she needed something to drink. Knowing all too well what disasters could occur if Casey were to attempt to walk through the crowd on her own not wholly steady feet, Zoe grabbed her hand and led her through to the snack table against one of the walls.

Zoe nibbled on a cracker while waiting for Casey to finish her drink, when all of a sudden the night turned even more cliche, as she spotted Hunter approaching the table from the opposite direction just as a slow song started playing.

She instinctively rolled her eyes. “Don’t turn around. Unless you want to show the little tit what he’s missing out on, which, like, I’m obviously all in favor of.”

Casey’s face looked confused at first, before the dawning recognition as to whom “the little tit” was in reference. 

“Hunter?” she sighed, although her expression already betrayed that she knew the answer. Zoe noticed the flicker of sadness in Casey’s eyes, before she tossed her cup away and grabbed Zoe’s hand again, leading her to a point in the crowd where they were still definitely visible from the refreshments area.

Facing her back to the wall, with a mischievous light in her eyes and a natural smile on her face, Casey put her hands around Zoe’s neck. “Middle school slow dance?”

Zoe couldn’t help but giggle in response, a reaction that was absolutely in result of her being not-entirely sober at this point in the evening, but she managed to pull herself together long enough to characteristically sneer, even as she put her own arms around Casey’s waist.

She didn’t let herself think about implications or the lack thereof, didn’t wonder about a reality where there wasn’t a boy at a snack table, didn’t think about Casey and how her thoughts added an exclamation point after her name, so instead she just rolled her eyes, a grin growing on her face regardless.

They alternated through the routine cheesy couple dances, from the classic waltz to the awkward heavy petting that had been much more prevalent tonight, before settling on a more natural version of their initial pose. 

Casey rested her head on Zoe’s shoulder. Bruno Mars was still wailing, as she turned towards her ear and whisper-shouted, “I’m glad you convinced me to come.” When Zoe just smiled in response, Casey continued. “You’re really not as terrible as you’d like to pretend, you know.”

With Casey here, their faces inches apart, buzzing from adrenaline and alcohol, it would have been so easy to just lean in and close that distance, to feel her mouth on hers and put her hand in her curls. Which made it all the more unbearable to turn her head and respond, her voice getting lost in the music, “No. I really am.”


End file.
